First Anniversary - Heart Attack

I was camped at the edge of the Mt. Wrightson Wilderness 40 miles south of Tucson when, out of the blue, I started vomiting. My vision began to tunnel and I recognized the signs of fading consciousness; there was an intense pain in my chest. I figured I should move down to the pavement so someone would find my body before it stank up the car. (When camped in the wilds, people leave each other alone unless hailed.)

Once at the pavement I found a wide spot, pulled over and called Michelle to give her my GPS coordinates. The pain increased until I was uninhibitedly screaming. I writhed over the shift knobs (Phoebe has a long one for her five forward gears and reverse and a short one for the two ranges of four-wheel-drive) for about 20 minutes or so with Michelle listening in. 

I managed to channel some of the pain into the repressed rage Alice Miller rights about in Banished Knowledge.

After the attack subsided I spent the remainder of the afternoon (on adrenaline) exploring the desert. 

Back at camp the evening went fairly normally (all things are relative), but later I was awakened by angina; I turned on the phone to see the time and, as it came on, it rang. I was astonished to hear Allen Rasmussen, a recent acquaintance, calling to see how I was. It was 3:00 a.m., perzackly.

I complained about the angina -- it was bothersome -- and we formulated a plan (Allen was a retired  coronary care specialist) to meet at the emergency entrance to St. Mary's hospital in Tucson.

At St. Mary's I had to lean heavily on Allen in order to make it to the emergency room. There, they did an EKG and determined I was (still) in the throes of a myocardial infarction. They plugged in some morphine, gave me an aspirin and strongly suggested surgery...RIGHT NOW! I declined. 

Once the morphine worked its magic and I'd convinced everyone I wasn't interested in further treatment, they released me. The release however, was against their advice (they REALLY wanted to do surgery) so they proffered no medications.

Curious, a few days later I went to Pima Heart (the local cardiology magnates) and signed up for a transradial angioplasty. This $90,000.00 operation -- performed by Dr. Morales -- disclosed both main arteries totally blocked and unstentable. (Stents are popular for holding open arteries that have narrowed from accumulated plaque.) Dr. Morales recommended bypass surgery; I declined. He prescribed some meds. Dr. Vanessa Cole Marin -- at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque -- is now supervising my care.

Nine years ago, an injury to my left eye resulted in a scarred cornea such that I look a bit like one of those Husky-type dogs with different-colored eyes. The eye has been oozing yellow-matter-custard for several weeks so yesterday I went to have it checked. Dr. Tran (graduated last year from ophthalmology school in Pennsylvania) said that blinking -- and olde age -- had worn a hole through the scar and my eye was leaking out. Lacking a slit-lamp camera, a DSLR that attaches to the microscope used to examine patients' eyes, he used his cell phone camera and texted the photos to their cornea specialist. They suggested a cornea transplant but said some super-glue would hold it for a while. They didn't have any glue and I left with a referral to the "other" clinic.

We'll see (no pun intended).

In the E.R. at St. Mary's

Mayyyy be the last post, I don't knooooOOOOooow.

1965

SUNDAY
The shortness of breathe grew increasingly worse. I vomited...it was intense and uninhibited. I decided it was time to move closer to the pavement so someone could find me after it was over. I made it down to the "2nd tier" paved from whence one goes cross-country (off-pavement). It was too far to the 1st tier; I pulled off onto the shoulder, put the seat into its reclining position, and waited.

The pain kept intensifying until I was screaming -- full bore -- with each breath. As I writhed over the shift knobs, I had enough presence of mind to go inside and access the decades of accumulated rage and frustration at this stupid culture; a culture that put my first wife's ex-husband in a Tennessee State Penitentiary for four years for two joints and is now, at least in some states, delighting in the revenue of legalized use. And though I'm pleased at the treatment possibilities, after decades of demonizing psychedelics, the movie Fantastic Fungi is sweeping the nation to neutralize their hypocrisy. It's fascinating -- their exquisitely coordinated machinations -- as they gear up to rake in more billions providing prescriptive use for treatment of PTSD, anxiety, the embarrassment of psoriasis, a small penis/breasts and what all.


MONDAY
I awoke around 2:00 a.m. and was lying there thinking how the pain was so strong I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I turned on the phone to see what time it was and was astonished to see it ring. It was Alan Rasmussen calling to check on me...at 3:00 a.m.

He met me at St. Mary's E.R. in Tucson where the EKG showed I was still in the throes of an Acute Miocardial Infarction (AMI). I was hustled into a bed, plugged with an I.V. (they didn't even ask) and after being told the offerings-of-the-day, got some nitroglycerine mit morphine.

Surmisaling I had a thrombosis, a blockage of one of the arteries, they were eager to do an angiogram (run a tube up your femoral - the one inside your thigh - artery to your heart). I declined. I was kinda hoping this would be the hash-settling event and besides, don't NOBODY get that close to Der Jewels except mit more friendlier intent!

After a couple of hours the pain subsided and I was getting bored so I checked out. Since I was leaving against medical advice, they couldn't prescribe anything.

Oh yeah, a little side incident occurred when one of the docs asked what I wuz gonna do and I mentioned a bottle of nitrogen I keep in my storage locker (it's used in home-brewing). He seemed to almost delight in exclaiming, "You're suicidal!" and informed me he had to tell the psychiatrist who would likely have me committed to their pysch ward and THERE they'd be able to do whatever they liked! HAH!

Fortunately, the psychiatrist was of more sound mind and hearing me immediately recant on my self-deliverance (commonly known as suicide), she gave absolution and I was free to go.

NDE - Pre Heart Attack

I first noticed the angina a couple of years ago. As it became increasingly hard to ignore, I began to fantasize it would be a source of deliverance; that it'd culminate in a fatal episode.

At my annual physical in January, I asked my physician for an MRI in order to assess the aortic aneurysm discovered in the x-rays taken after the accident in December 2018. But the soonest appointment was in March; I didn't want to hang around Albuquerque that long.

As the angina and shortness of breathe increased over the months I grew increasingly ebullient. I've wrangled suicidal ideation since age 7 and now, at last, I could anticipate a "natural" means of exiting. Then came, on the 16th of last month, the Near-Death-Experience (NDE).

From beginning to end was about three hours, but the peak, a period of timelessness, I estimate to have been about an hour.

It started with an increasing shortness of breath that prompted me to spread my sleeping bag on the ground. At its peak I lay on my back, my entire body, except for the area of my sternum, numb. My hands had curled into claws; the muscles in my arms contracted bringing my forearms up slightly with my hands rotated toward me.

At one point, prior to full immobilization, I started to panic -- I imagined being permanently disabled  like this -- and attempted to get to my pistol. But it was too late. I managed to raise myself onto one elbow, but could get no farther. As I sank back a "voice" in my head said, "Don't be afraid, it'll be okay." "Oh Boy! This is gonna be good," I thought.

As the paralysis deepened, I transitioned through several phases. There was a period of sorrow at leaving my loved ones knowing that, even when not in immediate proximity, we feel and appreciate each others' "presence."

There was a phase in which I felt the need to "cover my ass" by asking forgiveness of the gods. I went down the list: Muhammad, Yahweh, Shakti, Vishnu, Wotan (Odin) and several others, including even Christ, assuring them I'd done my best in spite of, in retrospect, an occasional act of carelessness. (I reminded them I am German and never make mistakes) My Dad, a double agent in the second world war whose slightest misstep would've meant his life once said, "There's no such thing as an accident, just carelessness."

As full paralysis took hold, I could hear myself gasping for breath, but I was separated from my physical self and felt no discomfort. The sun was behind Phoebe (my car) and I could still see. The clouds, fairly high up and thin,  appeared to be racing by; I felt as if I were leaving my body; that it was merely a carrier for my consciousness and now I was done with it.

My sorrow at leaving my loved ones had dissipated into an acceptance of the ineffableness of melding into the infinite. Consciousness was drifting into a vaguery - a useless concept. But there was still enough to enjoy a sense of relief at being freed from it and a slight enthusiasm of anticipation.

Then, as the sun peeked around the upper edge of Phoebe's corner, it stopped. And in that split second I knew I was going to live. And the fury and joy that exploded into my awareness had me both violently despondent and gloriously happy.

And then the phone rang.

I managed to get up and crawl to the car. It was Kristen. Hearing my sobs, I was both furious and joyful, she, being a retired Ph.D. therapist, switched into professional mode and commanded, "BREATHE!"

A few moments later, after determining I was gonna continue (breathing) she, being in a risky (we're not "out" except to her husband) environment, hung up.

I sat for about 20 minutes and called Michelle. I'd emailed her before the paralysis took full hold with instructions for applying for my Social Security benefits, a list of folks to notify and other details to attend to after my death.

We talked for a few minutes but I didn't have the strength to continue. I sat for the next two hours, watching the ambivalence of a missed opportunity (to leave) and the realization of being given another chance.

Death Don't Have No Mercy

Reverend Gary Davis

Y'know death don't have no mercy in this land
Death don't have no mercy in this land, in this land
Come to your house, you know he don't take long
Look in bed this morning, children find your mother gone.

I said death don't have no mercy in this land.
Death will leave you standing and crying in this land,
Death will leave you standing and crying in this land, in this land, yeah!

Whoa! come to your house, why' know he don't stay long,
Why' look in bed this morning,
Children you find that your brothers and sisters are gone.
I said death don't have no mercy in this land.

Death will go in any family in this land.
Death will go in any family in this land.
Come to your house, you know he don't take long.
Look in the bed on the morning, children find that your family's gone.

I said death don't have no mercy in this land.
Death will leave you standing and crying in this land,
In this land. whoa! come to your house,
Why' know it don't stay long, why' look in bed this morning,
Children find that your brothers and sisters are gone.

I said death don't, death don't have no mercy in this land.

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Gary Davis

Death Don't Have No Mercy lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing

Here's a link to Rev Gary Davis' performance (on Youtube).